


here between your hips (this is where I wanna live)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-01
Updated: 2007-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Written for spn_rimmathon with the prompt Dean is trying to embarrass wee!Sammy by talking about sex explicitly while John is gone. But it backfires when Dean starts talking about rimming and Sam says he wonders what that feels like. Of course, Dean has to demonstrate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** here between your hips (this is where I wanna live)  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating/Warnings:** NC-17 | m/m slash, incest, underage (Sam’s 15), rimming.  
**Word Count:** 3, 279  
**Summary/Prompt:** Written for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_rimmathon/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_rimmathon/)**spn_rimmathon** with the prompt _Dean is trying to embarrass wee!Sammy by talking about sex explicitly while John is gone. But it backfires when Dean starts talking about rimming and Sam says he wonders what that feels like. Of course, Dean has to demonstrate._ No plot, just tongue-in-bum. Enjoy!  
**Notes:** See end of fic.  
  
  
  
  
  
“And then she sucked me all the way down, fucking _down_ , and started gagging up come and spit and snot.”  
  
Sam chokes on a hot dog, eyes watering and mustard stinging his nostrils while Dean hoots and slaps his leg.  
  
“Yeah, that’s about right, Sammy.”   
  
Dean’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and mirth, and Sam wipes his mouth and glares. “That’s so _not_ hot, Dean.”  
  
Dean shrugs and leans back in his chair, sending the two front legs up and off the tiled floor. “Eh, guess you had to be there.” There’s a quick pause, and then, “Oh, and there was this one time—”  
  
Sam groans, all but laying his head down on the table before leveling a flat stare toward his brother. “Dude, I’m tryin’ to do my homework.”  
  
It’d been like this ever since Dad left on a new job. Dean’s already short attention span had been all but obliterated by the end of the first night, and he’d taken to getting his kicks anyway he could. Usually at the expense of his younger brother.   
  
“Can’t take the heat, eh, Sam?” Dean licks his lips, standing up, and Sam flicks his gaze back toward the notebook in front of him, praying for patience. “But man, she was fucking _hot_ , and she let me. Put it. Anywhere.”  
  
Sam slams his notebook with a hard thud, gripping his pencil so tight he’s surprised it doesn’t splinter into two halves. “Dean,” he warns, hating the prissy sound of his own voice, but _jesus._ Didn’t his brother have something better to do than try and rile him up and shove all his deviant sexual encounters down Sam’s throat?  
  
It’s not that Sam even cares. Much. But knowing Dean’s out there fucking anything on two legs is a completely different creature than having to hear about it. In gross detail.  
  
Apparently Dean’s smarter than he looks, Sam thinks uncharitably, because while the lazy grin stays in place, his brother holds both palms to the sky and makes a show of backing away. “Oh, c’mon, _Samuel._ Jus’ trying to have a little fun.”  
  
“Ever think you have too much fun?” Sam mutters, stiffening when Dean throws an arm around his shoulders and laughs.  
  
“Can’t have too much fun, Sam. Loosen up.” Dean’s eyes sparkle, and Sam groans because he knows, _he knows_ what’s coming. And he can already feel his dick growing hard in anticipation. “In fact, lemme tell you about this one sweet lady I met awhile back.”  
  
Sam wonders just how pissed Dad would be if he ran away from home while he was gone.   
  
“Don’t wanna hear it.” He flattens his lips, shifting away from Dean and hoping his brother gets the picture. He can’t take the feeling of Dean pressed up against him, all hard lines and edges, teasing eyes and wild grin. They’ve been playing this game for months, and Sam’s close to calling it a draw.  
  
“She was a couple years older than me…thirty, maybe. Came in for lunch on a Wednesday.” Dean sighs, like he’s recalling a really memorable occasion, which apparently he is, and Sam’s jealousy kicks up a notch.  
  
“A couple of years?” he snarks, refusing to let Dean see it bothers him. “Dude, she’s the same age as Ms Carroll in algebra.”  
  
“Bite your tongue.” But Dean’s smirking, slow-sexy and dirty, and Sam looks away before he does something stupid like pull that cocky face toward him and taste the leer on Dean’s lips. “Anyway, she waited around til I got off, then…”  
  
Sam can fill in the blanks from here. He’s so well-versed in the art of Dean Winchester’s Sexual Conquests, he could write a fucking encyclopedia. “You’re so gonna get fired, and then what’ll you tell dad?”  
  
“I licked her pussy, and then…” Ignoring Sam’s words, Dean grins, smarmy and sexy, and Sam goes blinding hard even before his brother leans in close to whisper, “She licked mine.”  
  
“You don’t have one, dillhole.” His tongue feels too thick, his mind stuck on the deliciously wrong images of Dean poised between some faceless woman’s creamy thighs, that devilish tongue licking and lapping. Sam’s torn between a rush of _ohgodohgodohgod_ and _sonotfuckingfair._  
  
“Oh, Sam.” Dean clucks under his breath, voice silky-soft and vaguely patronizing. It makes Sam stiffen up, even as Dean’s forehead presses against his shoulder and his brother’s rumbly tone vibrates in his ear. “Use that smart head of yours and figure it out.”  
  
Sam opens his mouth to protest, but truth is, now he’s more than a little intrigued. Dean, the asshole, _knows_ he can’t resist a challenge like that. “You don’t have a pussy,” he repeats sternly, trying not to let his voice crack on the word. He’s fifteen years old, damn it, and he grew up with Dean. He can talk about sex without blushing and turning into a stammering idiot. He can talk about sex and _Dean_ without it being a big deal.  
  
Dean only cocks a brow, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and giving Sam a look. Sam frowns, chews on his own lip, and then…then. His eyes fly wide and aware, locking onto Dean’s, and his pulse stutters in his chest. “Dean, you don’t. You don’t mean.”  
  
The grin Dean bestows on him is like fire, skimming along every square inch of Sam’s body until he’s squirming in his seat for cool relief. “She licked my ass, Sammy,” Dean purrs, and Sam turns his head and closes his eyes, fighting not to shudder at the words and the images they evoke. “Ain’t that something?”  
  
“Is it.” Sam swallows, starts again. “Is it…safe?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, his face bursts into heat and he ducks his head as Dean’s careless laughter fills the air. God, he _is_ a fucking idiot.   
  
Dean either doesn’t notice his embarrassment, or doesn’t care. Sam’s betting on the latter. “Safer than a hellhound chewing on your leg,” Dean says pointedly, and Sam’s eyes travel unconsciously to Dean’s left calf where a jagged scar hides away. “If I’m gonna go out, dude, lemme go out with some chick’s tongue up my—”  
  
“I get it,” Sam interrupts, flushed and so aroused his fingers are shaking. He sees Dean’s smug grin out of the corner of his gaze, and suddenly wants nothing more than to prove to his cocky brother that he can damn well take anything Dean feels like dishing out. He licks dry lips, turning to track Dean’s progress as he walks over toward the fridge.   
  
_Now or never, Sam._  
  
Waiting until Dean pulls a bottle of orange juice to his mouth, Sam takes a deep breath and schools his voice into careless nonchalance. “So, I wonder what it feels like.”  
  
It’s worth every flush and untempered erection over the past few months of teasing when Dean chokes on the juice, sputtering as he turns to stare at Sam. Sam gazes back, lips lifting at the corners. “You can’t take the heat,” he mimics, glancing around the kitchen, grin widening.  
  
_Your move now, big brother._  
  
But now Dean’s had a chance to recover, and shock is quickly replaced by an all too familiar gleam in green-gold eyes as he leans a hip back against the counter. He rolls the bottle of juice between both palms and glances at Sam from under his lashes. “You really wanna know?”  
  
_God, **do** I really wanna know?_ Sam’s dick twitches in an affirmative, and he nods dumbly.  
  
“It’s fucking incredible.” Something’s changed in Dean’s voice. It’s no longer cheerful, bright, but dark and dangerous and husky-rough. “S’like, the best blowjob ever, but in reverse.”  
  
Sam scrunches his face, thinking and tapping his pencil against the table. “That…sounds kinda weird,” he finally says, slow and uncertain.  
  
“Damn straight it’s weird.” Dean takes another chug of juice, smacking his lips while Sam struggles not to stare. “But it feels fucking _awesome_.”  
  
Sam thinks back to all those nights spent alone in his bed, touching himself _back there_ and wondering what it’d feel like if it were Dean instead. He clears his throat, managing to keep his head up despite the hot blush on his cheeks. “You, um, ever done it _to_ anyone?”  
  
And if he expected surprise or scandal from Dean Winchester at the leading question, he’s sorely mistaken. Instead, those eyes narrow in on him, sharp and knowing, and Sam’s heart leaps into his throat. “You sure sound interested, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, moving closer, determined intent written across his features, and Sam wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like.  
  
“I, uh.” Dean’s standing over him now, palms splayed out against the table on either side of Sam, trapping him between sturdy arms. The afternoon sunlight picks out every burnished strand in his brother’s light brown hair, highlighting freckles and hair and. Sam glances down, sees the telltale bulge in Dean’s shorts. “Oh, god.”  
  
Dean hums in the back of his throat, and the sound shivers along Sam’s spine. “Know what I think?” Another step closer, and now Sam can smell him -- clean sweat, ripened by work and arousal. He lowers his gaze, chewing restlessly on his lip while Dean’s nose brushes through the mop of curls on his head. His brother sighs. “I think you just gotta experience it for yourself, kid.”  
  
Sam’s lashes flutter, a low groan escaping his throat. “Dean.” He opens his eyes again, meets blown-wide green and gold, and swallows. God, he wants this so much. So fucking _much_ , but he’s not sure he’s ready. Not sure he wants to risk everything at stake just because he’s got a hard-on for his own brother that’s not going away any time soon. “I don’t know…”  
  
Just like that, Dean blinks, snapping straight as a veil falls down over his eyes. Sam stares up at him, breathing fast and uneven, already mourning the loss of the touch he’d never really known. “Then do me a favor and stay outta our room for awhile, okay, Sam?”  
  
Dean’s words come out harsh and punishing, but even as he stalks away on an uncomfortable limp, Sam knows he’s not angry. Dean’s never really angry, not at Sam, anyway, and maybe that’s even worse. Because what Dean is, is guilty. _Ashamed_ , and feeling like he somehow pushed Sam into wanting this and now Sam’s come to his senses, and it’s all so fucked up and _wrong_ and not the truth at all.  
  
The sound of the bedroom door slamming shut snaps Sam out of his musings, and he pushes his chair back, debating on following his brother upstairs. Usually, he’d let Dean be alone, give them both some much needed space, but he’s feeling so on edge and he can’t imagine how his brother might be taking this newest turn of events.  
  
_Serves him right, though, for baiting me._  
  
Sam shoves the wayward thought from his mind and takes the steps two at a time. Stops in front of their closed bedroom door and listens for the sounds of Dean’s frustrations beyond.  
  
All he hears is his own breathing and the squeaking of mattress springs. Sam presses his ear up against the door, eyes closed, and then he hears it; whisper-soft at first, then louder.  
  
“Sam. Sammy.”  
  
Sam jerks back, breath catching and eyes going wide and unfocused. _Oh, shit._ There’s no mistaking that sound, that tone of voice, and the idea that Dean’s in there…doing _that_ and thinking about Sam is almost too much. He reaches down, rubs the palm of his hand absently against his cock and whispers back, “Oh, fuck, Dean.”  
  
Now he can hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin, can imagine Dean spread out on the bed -- lips and cheeks flushed dark as he fists his cock and purrs obsenities mixed with Sam’s name. He can imagine it, but he doesn’t want to have to. He wants to see it live, up close, and _know_ without a shadow of a doubt that it’s real. For both of them.  
  
Dad’s always told him he has a stubborn streak, and Sam guesses he’s right. Surely mulish persistence is driving him now, erasing any lingering self-doubt and giving him the courage to open the door, his eyes, and see what’s in there waiting for him.  
  
It’s everything he imagined and more.  
  
Dean’s fingers stutter to a halt, eyes blurred and heavy-lidded on Sam as he stands in the doorway and stares in stupid fascination. “Sammy, what the fuck?” Dean’s voice is scraped raw and gritty, but then…then his hand starts moving again, and his toes curl, his hips rolling on the mattress. His eyes are hot and almost combative, daring Sam to say or do anything.  
  
Sam makes a helpless sound in the back of his throat, palming his own dick through his jeans as he catalogues Dean’s naked body with hungry, assessing eyes. “ _Dean._ ”  
  
And then his brother’s laughing, a filthy-sweet chuckle that has Sam stumbling three steps toward the bed. “You like that?” Dean asks, biting his lip and stroking himself quicker. Sam’s transfixed by the sight of Dean’s thumb skating across the head of his cock, pressing in deep, and he unconsciously mirrors the movement -- spreading his fingers along the swollen denim seam of his pants, rubbing in slow circles.  
  
Dean shifts onto his side, never stopping, and cocks a brow. Sam takes it as a confirmation, an invitation, and knees his way onto the bed, tongue touching the corner of his mouth as he starts pulling at his zipper. “Mmm…yeah, Sammy.”  
  
Breath hitching, Sam shoves his jeans down a bit, still staring at Dean’s fingers blurring against his cock. He pulls himself out, sighing in relief and frustration as his dick springs free, leaking against his palm in wet-velvet streaks. “Dean,” he says again, whining deep in his chest, and sways toward his brother.  
  
“Oh, that’s good.” Dean eyes him intently, licking his lips and letting go of himself. Sitting half-up and reaching for Sam’s hip. “That’s real, real good, Sammy. Lemme see.”  
  
Sam pumps his fist, biting his lip and letting his lashes flutter down to shadow his cheeks while Dean watches. The unabashed pleasure coloring his brother’s features is enough to strengthen Sam’s resolve, make him give in and let go. “Dean. I want…”  
  
“What?” Dean traces the pale crease between Sam’s pelvis and groin, and when he looks up, there’s a burning glimmer in his eyes that hits Sam smack dab in the middle of his chest. “What do you want?”  
  
Sam holds his gaze, precome and nervous sweat slicking his palm. “I’m still wondering what it feels like,” he says, and Dean’s expression undergoes several rapid transformations before his brother closes his eyes and mutters a curse.  
  
When Dean opens his eyes again, Sam thrusts his hips forward, fucking his fist. “Please,” he gasps, already knowing Dean’s gonna do it. But he can’t stop the begging, throaty tone of his voice, the way he goes down willingly when Dean presses a hand to his back and guides him facefirst into the pillows.  
  
Sam’s fingers curl into the sheets, shaking from head to toe as Dean lays a wet kiss between his shoulder blades. “Do it. M’so hard, Dean. Wanna know what it feels like.”  
  
“Easy. I’m gonna lick you open now, all right?” Dean’s voice is soft and sugar-sweet, and Sam’s breath hitches on a low gasp. He nods, rolling his hips back into Dean’s hands and squeezing his eyes shut. Dean laughs, but it sounds rough and choked-off. “Sammy, jesus.”  
  
He tugs Sam’s jeans down past his ass, and Sam sneaks a hand up under himself, pressing hard against his cock and stifling the moan into a pillow. He must not do a good job, because then Dean’s there, mouth at his ear and hands soothing along Sam’s waist. “Just relax, okay? This is gonna be a little…”  
  
“Weird?” Sam cracks, laughing a little even as his hips jerk and buck back against his brother’s groin. He can feel Dean thick and straining against him, and his voice drops to a low growl. “Oh, _god._ ”  
  
Dean catches his earlobe between his teeth, nibbling and purring in Sam’s ear, and then quick as a flash, he’s gone. Sam’s breath stutters, mind racing wildly and trying to keep up, but then. Then Dean’s got his ass in his hands, and he’s pulling Sam open, too wide, and _christ._  
  
“Dean.” It comes out on a needy gasp, and Sam shifts, keening low and feeling more than a little vulnerable. “Oh, god, Dean?”  
  
Instead of answering with words, his brother’s lips find the small of Sam’s back. Pressing, holding, openmouthed and hot. Sam goes stock-still, relishing the velvet-slick as it creeps lower, down over the flare of his hips and across one cheek. All the while, Dean’s fingers are teasing, rubbing slow circles until Sam feels certain he’s gonna fucking explode if Dean doesn’t cut the shit and do _something._  
  
And then, Dean does. The first touch of burning-hot tongue at the heart of him makes Sam yelp, nearly fly off the bed, and Dean chuckles around a curse. Holds him in place by the hips, pulling him into a steady rhythm and whispering encouraging words. “S’okay, just roll with it.”  
  
Sam does, literally, rolling and rocking his hips along with the hum of Dean’s breath, the support of Dean’s hands, and then the velvety licks return. This time he’s more prepared, but he can’t stop the soft whimpers from bursting out of his mouth. Can’t quite sound as worldly and mature as he wants because, goddamn, they’ve never even kissed, and now Dean has his tongue up Sam’s ass.  
  
It’s the most wonderful fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.  
  
Sam licks his lips, falling almost into a dazed stupor the longer Dean goes on -- tongue flirting along Sam’s crack, circling, dipping in and thrusting until Sam feels himself opening up. He recalls Dean’s earlier words, and wonders dumbly if this really is what it feels like for a girl. If so, then he’s pretty damn sure penis envy’s a load of bullshit.   
  
It’s not until Dean laughs, the sound sending a pleasant vibration against his hole, that Sam even realizes he spoke out loud. God, he can’t even filter his mouth while this shit is going on, and he does. Not. Care. Never wants it to _stop_ , and he’s sure he said that, too, when Dean pulls back and whispers, “Gotta ways to go yet, Sammy. Give that sexy brain a rest and just enjoy it.”  
  
So Sam does, and it’s no time at all before he’s writhing against the mattress, coming in sharp bursts and splashes that wring his cock and his body dry. He’s full-on sweating now, and Dean can’t get a good grip on his hips anymore. Just lets Sam go at it and digs his tongue in until Sam’s sure he’s gonna feel Dean licking his fucking throat any second.  
  
He lifts his head, twists his neck just in time to see Dean jacking himself, humping down low against the bed with eyes closed and face half-hidden against Sam’s ass. It almost sends Sam over the edge again, but he just lets out a noise that has Dean’s eyes flying open, and then his brother jerks and shoots all over his hand, holding Sam’s gaze with heated adoration.  
  
“God, you taste good.”  
  
“Fuck.” Sam drops his head again. “Jesus fuck.”  
  
“Still weird? Too much?” Dean asks, chuckle strained and ragged, and Sam just laughs and shakes his head, strung-out and spent.  
  
“Can’t have too much, Dean. Loosen up."  
 


End file.
